If life is a journey then let my soul travel and share your pain. - Santosh Kalwar

14 October 2019, Tamale to Busunu, 94.06km
Paramount chief’s compound 30GHC (R86 donation)

Entirely by accident, we found ourselves ensconced for the night in Room 1 at the compound of the paramount chief who reigns over the area from the Fufulso Junction to beyond Larabanga. Room 1 is usually occupied by a grandson, who was away, making it available to us.
We departed Tamale this morning with no idea of where we would find shelter for the night. We can, of course, get permission to pitch our tent in any of the many villages that dot the road, but this is always our less-preferred option, especially under a malevolent sun. We hoped that at the Fufulso Junction we would get lucky, but no such luck, so on we pressed in the burgeoning, bludgeoning heat. Unfortunately, Charl began to feel ill at the junction, weak and shaky and tired. We watered and fed him, but to no avail, so it was a slow afternoon. On a couple of occasions, we took breaks in small villages, sitting in the shade of a building on a thoughtfully-provided bench. At one stop, a woman brought mugs of water for Charl to throw over his head and shoulders in an attempt to cool himself.
Busunu was the last sizeable and reachable village shown on our map, so we hoped it might sport accommodation. As we came into town, I asked an elderly man lolling on the sidewalk if there was a guest house in town and was heartened when he immediately said yes, pointing across the road. He got to his feet, slipping them into his sandals, and directed me to follow him. Across the road, he showed me to an open doorway where two women stood. I asked again if this was a guest house, and was again told yes, so Charl and I wheeled our bikes into the courtyard and asked a man who approached us for a room. “This is the chief’s compound”, said he. We were rather embarrassed to have intruded in such a brash manner, but the man was extraordinarily kind. When I said we were looking for a guest house and told him that Charl was not well, he offered us a room in the compound, saying there was no accommodation in town. (We have no idea how the misunderstanding occurred…)
When you think “Paramount Chief’s Compound”, do not think “luxury”. The compound is made up of four buildings enclosing a large open courtyard. Three of the buildings contain bedrooms fronting onto open balconies; the fourth building is a common room, empty except for two drums, two plastic chairs, a few animal skins piled one on top of the other, and a large flat-screen TV. Our room had a single sleeping mat on the torn-linoleum floor, a plastic table with a broken leg, two plastic chairs and a mirror on the wall. The occupant’s worldly goods are stored in a suitcase on the floor. A shiny ceiling and ceiling fan offer at least the illusion of comfort. There is neither a toilet nor a place to bathe within the confines of the compound. I caused some consternation when I asked for a toilet. After some discussion, the chief’s son Mohammad-Issa, who served in the Ghanaian airforce for 25 years, took me out the back door to a locked pit toilet about 100 metres away, first collecting the key from a village woman. I needed to pee again before bedtime, and once more in the morning before leaving, and each time I was accompanied by a man who collected the key and unlocked for me, then waited to walk me back to the compound. We can only assume the family use bucket toilets, as I cannot imagine them traipsing back and forth in the night. We took our bucket baths where the extended family take theirs, in a corrugated tin enclosure on the sidewalk between the compound and the road.
After cooking and eating a simple meal of pasta with a tin of mackerel in tomato sauce, Charl blew up our mattresses and pillows. In the terrible heat, we had left our door open and raised the curtains on our windows, and had attracted an audience of villagers to the outside window and an audience of family members to the door, women and children who shortly came in to chat and explore our goods more closely. One girl picked up a pillow and hugged it to herself, her cheek bent to the softness of it. She was extremely reluctant to part with it, and I thought, not for the first time: don’t romanticise poverty.
Since Angola, we have encountered shops with religious names. Ghana is on steroids when it comes to this. Anointed Angel Fast Food, God is Great Electric Works, Prayer is the Key Enterprises. And today in Tamale our favourite so far: Covered with the Blood of Jesus Home Use Tyres Enterprise.

For today's route see below photos
For overview route, click on ROUTE tab above…